Hold up, good dogs, hold up!"
And off they went, crashing and rattling through the dry matted briers,
crossing each other evenly, and quartering the ground with rare
accuracy. Scarcely, however, had they beat ten paces, before Shot
flushed a cock as he was in the very act of turning at the end of his
beat, having run in on him down wind, without crossing the line of
scent. Flip--flip--flap rose the bird, but as the dog had turned, and
was now running from him, he perceived no cause for alarm, fluttered a
yard or two onward, and alighted. The dog, who had neither scented nor
seen the bird, caught the sound of his wing, and stood stiff on the
instant, though his stern was waved doubtfully, and though he turned his
sagacious knowing phiz over his shoulder, as if to look out for the
pinion, the flap of which had arrested his quick ear. The bird had
settled ere he turned, but Shot's eye fell upon his master, as with his
finger on the trigger-guard, and thumb on the hammer, he was stepping
softly up in a direct line, with eye intently fixed, toward the place
where the woodcock had dropped; he knew as well as though he had been
blessed with human intellect, that game was in the wind, and remained
still and steady.
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